Chapter 13
Wanda spends the next two days avoiding Vision Shade.
She knows it’s cowardly and immature, but after walking out of his rehearsal like a peeved child and then subsequently fainting on his shoulder, she figures he’s probably not too fond of her at the moment.
So, she uses that as her excuse to duck out of his way when she sees him walking down the hall, pretending deafness if he calls her name. She avoids his eyes in rehearsal, arriving a minute before it begins and leaving the second he dismisses them, grabbing her bag and whisking away before she’s even removed her pointes.
It’s exhausting, but she’s not sure what else to do.
Not to mention, he’s gotten into her head.
The things he’d spouted on that terrible day, when she had felt so hungry and drained that she wasn’t even truly aware of what was coming out of her mouth, she had filed away as truth.
She had lost her sense of self over the last few weeks. She had lost her enjoyment of just dancing for the sake of dancing.
So, she was determined to change that immediately. And she would be lying if a little bit of herself didn’t want to show Vision Shade up for basically telling her that she didn’t inspire him.
She has a long break between company class and Vision’s rehearsal. In two days, that time will be filled with Nutcracker rehearsals, but for now, it’s still hers to do what she likes.
For the past few weeks, she’s been going to yoga and then usually fitting in some kind of gym time in that space, but today she is skipping both of those activities and she’s more delighted than she wants to admit.
She finds a small open studio and lets herself in, flipping on the lights and connecting her phone to the speakers. She finds an easy classical playlist and begins a barre warm up, running through the basic plies and tendus until her body feels pliable and beads of sweat are dripping between her shoulder blades.
She clicks the music over to Romeo and Juliet, and begins to walk through the steps, trying to lose herself in the music.
Nothing happens.
The music stays music, her body feels sluggish and heavy, and Wanda is left feeling large and slow.
She restarts the piece and tries again, but the soaring violins only scrape her ears and the added instruments beat in her head mercilessly.
Growling, she restarts the music again, determined to let herself feel the piece.
All she succeeds in doing is stumble through each jump and fall out of every turn.
Wanda throws her body dramatically to the floor, figuring she’s earned some tantrum time, her lower lip quivering as she glares at her feet accusingly. As if it’s their fault she can’t get out of her head.
Maybe she should just call it now. Quit. Move out of the city. Buy a farm or something. Spend the rest of her life as a hermit on a mountain top making her own cheese and scaring the local children.
She droops to her back.
A movement at the door startles her and she cranes her neck to see Vision leaning against the doorframe, a sympathetic smile on his face.
“Hello,” he says.
“Hi,” Wanda says dully, flopping back onto her back.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” Vision steps into the studio.
“What?” Wanda shakes her head. “No, I-,” Vision cocks an eyebrow and she sighs. “Fine, yes, I have.”
“Why?” he crosses his arms.
“Do you want the list?” Wanda asks.
His lips twitch. “Are you feeling better? From the other night?”
“Yes,” Wanda sits up. “Just embarrassed.”
He sits on the floor next to her, slowly as though he’s expecting her to spook. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“Easy for you to say,” she mutters.
He gives her a small smile and she cuts her eyes to the left, observing her hunched body in her red leotard reflected in the floor to ceiling mirrors.
“Are you working on Romeo and Juliet?” Vision asks after a moment of silence.
Wanda snaps her attention back to him. “Yes,” she replies.
“Why were you so frustrated?”
“Why?” she says. “‘Why’ he asks, like it’s not his fault.”
“My fault?”
“Yes, your fault!” she surges to her feet. “You got into my head!”
“That was not my intent,” he looks so apologetic that she almost feels guilty.
Almost.
“Yeah well,” she says intelligently.
He smirks. “Do you need help?”
“From you?” Wanda asks. “No thanks, I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”
“Oh, come on,” he shrugs out of his sweatshirt. “I think I can help you relax.” She raises an eyebrow and he flushes. “Not like that, god, what kind of person do you think I am?”
She is going to throw their impromptu, albeit completely professional kiss, in his face but the words get caught in her throat when she registers that he’s wearing a bright blue t-shirt today.
The exact shade of his eyes.
She swallows. “Okay,” she hears herself agree.
His smile is worth every uncertain thought floating in her head. “Great!” he says cheerfully. He toes off his street shoes and ties on his dance sneakers.
Wanda tries not to drool as she watches the play of muscles along his biceps.
She clears her throat. “Uh,” she says. “Right, well-.”
“Let’s start with a warm up,” Vision suggests kindly. “So that we both feel more comfortable.”
“Okay,” Wanda agrees, walking to the barre.
Vision tilts his head. “Where are you going?”
“To the barre?” she answers.
“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I already know you’re physically warmed up.”
“Okay,” Wanda says uncertainly.
“You’re an excellent dancer on your own two feet,” Vision tells her. “What you need is practice with a partner.”
Wanda blinks. “No one’s ever told me that before,” she says.
“Well, you’re very good at faking it,” Vision says, hunting through his music.
“I am?” Wanda is genuinely astonished.
“Yes,” Vision hits the music he wants and turns to her. “You are.”
A familiar tune begins to play from the speakers and Wanda raises an eyebrow. “I hate Waltz of the Flowers,” she tells Vision bluntly.
“Really?” Vision positions himself in front of her. “I’ve always loved it.”
“Of course you do,” Wanda mutters.
“What don’t you like about it?” Vision challenges.
“Besides the fact that I’ve been in a corps de ballet for five years?” Wanda asks.
He smirks. “Touché.”
“I guess I just can’t get past hearing counts screamed by a ballet mistress out of my head when I hear it,” Wanda admits.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not about to count,” Vision’s smirk widens.
In a movement so sudden, Wanda barely has time to squeak, Vision sweeps his arms up and catches her body in a waltz position, his right hand holding her left gently, his left hand resting on her shoulder blades. He’s warm and smells like spice and sandalwood, and Wanda resists the urge to bury her face in his chest and sniff.
He’s grinning down at her, his eyes sparking with mischief.
“Now what?” Wanda asks, trying not to sound as breathless as she feels.
“Now, we dance,” Vision steps forward with his left foot and Wanda has no choice but to step back with her right.
“Vision,” she says after a moment, keeping her eyes on their feet. “We’re waltzing.”
“Caught on, have you?” Vision grins at her.
“But this is ballroom dancing,” Wanda bites down a squeal of surprise as he twirls her deftly under his arm, catching her against him.
“So?” Vision sweeps them in a circle deftly.
“I thought I was struggling with ballet partnering,” Wanda says dryly.
“Not necessarily,” Vision says. “You’re struggling with partnering in general.”
“And you think waltzing is going to help me?” Wanda asks.
“Your problem,” Vision twirls her under his arm. “Is that you don’t trust your partners.”
“I do too!” Wanda says.
“No, you don’t,” Vision says. “You’ve been staring at our feet since we started.”
“So?”
“So, you don’t trust me to not step on your toes,” Vision says crisply. “And every time I twirl you, you flinch.”
“I do not!” Wanda protests.
“Oh?” he twirls her out and pulls her back into the waltzing position. “Prove me wrong.”
Wanda clenches her jaw and meets his eyes deliberately. There is amusement in the bright blue depths and his lips twitch as he dips her backwards.
She lets out a startled squawk and he grins.
“No fair!” she says when she’s vertical. “That’s cheating!”
“No,” Vision says. “That’s you not trusting me.”
She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms, stepping away from him.
He watches her with amusement. “Before you kill me,” he says. “Just try something. Close your eyes.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Please?” he adds.
She huffs but follows his instructions, fluttering her lids shut.
She feels Vision lift her hand delicately again, his other hand placed warmly at her back.
“Now,” he whispers and she jumps slightly as his warm breath ruffles her ear. She hadn’t realized he was so close. “Let me lead.”
She rolls her eyes behind her lids, and though she knows he can’t see, he chuckles, his body vibrating gently.
With her eyes closed, she is hyperaware of his body next to hers, and she can feel his muscles shifting as his left foot moves forward. She moves her right back, stepping in time with the music.
“That’s right,” Vision murmurs in her ear. “I’m going to twirl you, don’t be scared.”
She sticks her tongue out, but feels his hand on her shoulder blades shift ever so slightly, adding pressure to her right side. She responds to the touch, twirling outward.
“Perfect,” his mouth is back near her ear again. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“I will step on your toes,” she threatens and is rewarded by his gentle chuckle.
“Before you do that,” he says. “Listen to the music.”
She sighs, but forces her ears to listen to the sounds of violins and flutes winding together in a beautiful harmony. She might hate the Waltz of the Flowers, but she can’t deny that it’s a beautiful piece of music.
As she’s listening, she feels Vision’s hands shift, the hand on her shoulder blades slides down to her hip, and his hand holding hers has dropped, the muscles in his arm tensing.
She opens her mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but as the music swells to the melody again, he lifts her in time with the music, her body swinging through the air, her chest pressed against his.
Her eyes fly open and catch his, the blue so intense, she feels deep shiver chase down her spine.
He places her back on the ground, his feet never losing the waltz, and she effortlessly matches him as the violins and flutes are joined with the rest of the orchestra.
“Close your eyes,” he says in a very different voice, the tone husky and low.
Wanda swallows and closes her lids gently.
Vision pulls her close, closer than the regular waltz requires, and sweeps them into a pattern of gentle swirls and dips as the music climbs towards the climax of the piece.
She feels his body shift and responds automatically to it. She’s never felt this kind of connection to a partner before, like she knows every move he’s going to make before he makes it. He only has to apply the lightest pressure and she knows when to turn, only has to squeeze her hand to change their direction.
She is putty in his hands and she’s never been more terrified of anything in her life.
As the music hits its final beats, Wanda feels Vision shift under her fingertips, and she turns outward, letting go of him completely, knowing that he’s following her, knowing that he’ll catch her.
She feels his hands around her waist as he supports her final turn before dipping her all the way back, her spine supported under his strong forearm, his body bent above hers gracefully.
She opens her eyes and green meets blue. His face is closer than she expected, his mouth a whisper away from hers.
As they stare at each other, catching their breath, she flicks her gaze to his mouth, just briefly before snapping her focus back up.
His eyes have darkened and he dips his head closer to hers, his lips a millimeter away.
A new song comes on, a jazz standard that Wanda vaguely recognizes from her father’s old collection of records growing up.
Wanda jerks away from him, her eyes wide and she feels a hot flush traveling up her cheeks as he helps her right herself, both her feet firmly on the ground.
She’s expecting him to immediately drop his arms and step away from her in embarrassment, stammering something about how he’s sorry to cross some sort of professional line.
However, Vision makes no move to let her go, his arms even tighten as if he’s anticipating her drawing away and breaking the spell.
In fact, he gives her a half smile and spins her under his arm, pulling her back into his chest.
“This isn’t a waltz,” Wanda tells him.
“I don’t care,” he breathes in her ear.
The music croons from the speakers, saxophones and trumpets chasing each other in a playful melody. Vision begins to lead her in a swing dance, twirling her around in his arms in time to the beat, the speed causing her to giggle breathlessly.
She’s never tried to swing dance in pointe shoes, but Vision barely seems to want to let her feet touch the ground, he twirls her and lifts her and each movement causes a new zing of delicious awareness to zip down her spine.
At one point, he’s spun her out on her own, grabbing at her hand as her momentum slows and pulls her back into his chest. He’s used too much force and she crashes into him, one arm wrapping around his neck, the other resting on his right bicep.
Their eyes lock and she can see amusement and something deeper, something solemn and reverent in his, before he reaches up with his right hand and delicately takes her left hand in his, pulling her more upright.
The dance becomes less frenzied as Vision leans down, placing his cheek against hers, wrapping his free arm around her waist so there is no distance between their bodies, and they sway.
Vision moves his head just slightly so his lips are next to his ear. “’Just the way you look tonight,’” he croons softly, delicately along with the music, and Wanda feels her legs turn to jelly.
The music fades into silence and from the doorway, there is a loud cough.
Vision and Wanda jerk away from each other, both swinging to the studio door with flushed faces.
Agnes Harkness is standing just inside the studio, an eyebrow raised.
Darcy Lewis is behind her, peeking around the doorframe, a sheepish look on her face.
“Far be it from me to interrupt,” Agnes says dryly. “But Vision, we have a meeting in two minutes?”
Vision’s eyes widen and he jerks his head to the clock. “Shit!” he says, racing to his shoes. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time!”
“Yes, I can see,” Agnes’s gaze cuts to where Wanda is trying to make herself look as small as possible.
“I was helping Wanda with some partnering issues,” Vision says, straightening with his dance sneakers in his fist.
“Is that what the church is calling it these days?” Darcy mutters under her breath.
Neither Vision nor Agnes seems to have heard her but Wanda chokes, her cheeks flaming as she shoots a look at Darcy who grins at her conspiratorially.
“Wanda’s definitely getting the hang of it,” Visio continues, blissfully ignorant.
“Definitely,” Agnes repeats, her eyes scouring Wanda up and down before a tiny smirk appears on her face. “Keep up the work, Ms. Maximoff.”
Vision tosses Wanda an awkward half smile before following Agnes out of the studio. “Oh, hello, Darcy,” he says as he passes her.
Darcy however, barely acknowledges him, she gives a half nod and lowers her eyes.
Vision presses his lips together and looks like he wants to say something else, but Agnes calls: “Vision?” and he scurries away.
Wanda lets out a long breath, the first since Vision appeared in the studio door, and slumps over her water bottle.
“Hey,” Darcy bumps her booted toe against the end of Wanda’s right pointe shoe fondly and drops to the ground to sit next to her. She’s wearing a pair of skinny jeans and a red beanie and looks so casually comfortable in her skin that Wanda feels a surge of jealously.
“Hi,” Wanda answers.
“So,” Darcy stretches her legs out in front of her. “What was all that about?”
“What was what about?” Wanda asks.
Darcy fixes her with a look. “You and Vision looked pretty cozy,” she says and Wanda feels a flash of white-hot energy pooling in her lower belly.
“Did we?” Wanda tries to sound breezy. “We were just messing around.”
Darcy shifts. “I’ve known Vision a long time,” she says. “And I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”
Wanda swallows. “He’s being kind, Darcy,” she says. “He’s noticed I’ve been struggling recently.”
Thankfully, this distracts Darcy, her gaze going from knowing to sympathetic. “Yes, how are you feeling?” she asks. “You know, after the other day?”
Wanda picks at the knot on her pointe shoe ribbons. “I’m fine,” she says. “Just feeling a little stupid.”
Darcy leans back on her hands, crossing her ankles. “You’ve been working really hard lately,” she says.
“I have,” Wanda agrees.
“I know when I get swamped with work,” Darcy says carefully. “It means I’ve forgotten to take care of myself.”
Wanda blinks. “I mean, I guess I haven’t been incredibly nice to myself since the season started, but I’m going for a promotion, Darc!”
Darcy gives her a small smile. “Life is more than promotions, Wanda.”
Wanda yanks off her pointe shoes, uncaring at how morbidly ugly her toes are. “Have you been talking to Natasha?” she asks Darcy suspiciously.
“No, why?” Darcy asks. “Has she been telling you the same thing?”
“Her daily mantra is: ‘have fun before you’re forty and too old’,” Wanda says dully.
Darcy lets out a half giggle. “She’s not entirely incorrect, though god help us all if forty is old.”
“It is for a dancer,” Wanda says gloomily, wrapping her pointe shoes ribbons around the heels of the shoes. Darcy is silent and Wanda looks up to see her giving her a stricken look. “Oh,” Wanda says. “I’m sorry, Darc, I’ve been in a bad mood all week.”
Darcy pats her hand. “It’s okay,” she says. “It was a stupid thing for me to say.”
Wanda shoves her arms through her sweatshirt. “You’re right though, I haven’t been taking care of myself recently.”
“You’ve got tomorrow completely off, right?” Darcy asks.
“Yeah,” Wanda nods. “It’s a companywide break, the last hurrah before Nutcracker rehearsals start on Tuesday.”
“I have a proposition for you,” Darcy says.
“Okay,” Wanda says cautiously.
“I’ve been dying to go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art recently and no one will go with me.”
Wanda raises an eyebrow. “Uh,” she says.
“I know it’s a lot to ask for you to sacrifice some of your day off,” Darcy continues. “But if you want to join me, it’ll be my treat. We can even go in the afternoon so you have time to sleep in!”
“Uh,” Wanda says again.
She really has no excuse other than she was going to use her day off to maybe go for a run around the park, and then maybe to Pilates. And a dance class at Steps on Broadway.
Darcy is anxiously watching her face. “Please?” Darcy begs. “It’ll be so fun! We can even sit at the cafe and drink overpriced lattes, talking in loud voices about how derivative everything is.”
“Well,” Wanda chews on her lip. “I guess I have some time in the afternoon-,” she barely gets through the sentence before Darcy is flinging herself at Wanda, hugging her tightly.
“Yay!” Darcy cheers. “Oh, Wand, it’ll be so fun, I haven’t seen art in months!”
Despite her initial misgivings, Wanda feels a blossoming feeling of cheer in her chest.
Darcy is right, it could be fun to wander around looking at art for an afternoon. Wanda hasn’t been to the Met since she joined the company five years earlier and she’s woefully uneducated when it comes to paintings, but pretending for a day that she’s just a regular New Yorker without ballet, without promotions, without Vision Shade, sounds like just the distraction she needs.